I Dream Of Love In 1945
by dragons-chronos
Summary: How does one remember their first love? He was not him, and she was not her. Time had changed the two of them. They were different people with memories of different people. How does one let go of their last love? (Connected with "To Fall In Love.")


How does one remember their first love?

He was not him, and she was not her. Time had changed the two of them. They were different people with memories of different people.

How does one let go of their last love?

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or the characters. I own nothing here except for the plot.

* * *

"Come on, Steve!"

"I'm coming, Peggy. I'm right here with you."

He was near her. Strong arms encircled her arms. The warmth of his lips left marks on her neck. She melded their hands together. Blue. His blue eyes were full of happiness. His smile- he looked at her like she'd hung the moon and stars.

Happiness bloomed in her chest. Love, this was the love she craves.

"Steve," she turned to face him fully. Her hands clasped his face. Their lips met with zealous desire.

...

...

"Good morning, love," a voice woke her up. The sun shone straight from the windows. A floral scent invaded her senses. Fast, her heart drummed.

It was that dream again she'd been having for a countless of times.

"I've prepared breakfast, and the paper is here," Steve, her husband, spoke. He ran his hands through his dark hair.

"Oh, what's the news?"

"Nothing new, the military is still going to hold a memorial for me. It's three years already since the Valkyrie crashed," he informed her. She thought back about that time. It was the day she'd lost him.

And by sheer miracle of fate, he came back.

She gulped at the mention of the incident.

"Do you want to eat with me?"

"Yes," a curt reply came from her. It was another day of their lives together. A smile bloomed on his face.

But it was smaller- not the big grin she used to see before. Nor it was the one in her dreams.

She stood up from the bed, and together they went to the dining room. Coffee, milk, eggs, and toast laid before them. A bundle of fresh tulips was on the table.

"I've got you some flowers. I've picked them up today from the florist," Steve mentioned. He'd always try to please her. But. She didn't have the heart to tell him it was not what she likes.

Their lives were like a script from the films.

"They're beautiful," Peggy thanked him. The tulips were, indeed, beautiful- a reminder of his life before. Not the life they shared, his life before he came back.

She laid the flowers to her side. But they're not daisies.

Peggy drank her coffee first. The food was inviting as she dined. Steve was the better cook between them. Delicious. It was quite rich and tasty.

"Are you working today?" Steve asked. Hopeful gaze honed on her. He was piling up some eggs on his plate.

"Yes, I and the others are making progress. Thanks to your information we'd manage to find enough charges to indict the senator."

"That's brilliant. Why didn't you tell me last night?"

Peggy continued to chew the food in her mouth. She avoided his gaze.

"You weren't here last night."

His head lowered. The silence was palpable between them. Apologetic. Another routine they'd settled earlier on their marriage.

"I- I was out..." he mumbled. "Shit. I'm sorry, Peg."

"It's okay, I understand."

He cursed.

His hand touched hers gently.

"I'll make it up to you," his eyes were earnest. "Tonight, let's dance and have dinner together."

"Your memories, it's alright for you to clear your head. Besides you did come home," she cheered him up. Her chest constricted. Her heart- her heart understood.

They settled on eating with silence.

Another day together.

There were no things they could talk but work.

Steve did the dishes after they ate. The two busied themselves with their work. He stayed at home if he didn't have any missions while she continues her work with the SSR. The secrecy of their lives was a delicate balance. No one should know that he was alive. Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers was gone and declared dead by the military. Her husband was Steve Wilson-Carter.

Howard Stark was the only person they trusted to know the truth and conceal it.

"Peggy, I'll see you tonight," he called out to her. His dark locks hid his blue eyes. The pain. The pain in his eyes that he tried so hard to conceal from her. He held his outstretched hand, inviting her to take it.

She took it. It was rough, more calloused.

"I'll see you again. Tonight," Peggy leaned in to kiss him. It was short and sweet. She felt herself tremble- this was him and not him.

It was not like her dreams.

* * *

They danced slowly to the music, and his arms wrapped around her. They'd always dance to the same song. She never taught him to dance, for he had learned to dance in his time. At first, she never wanted things to stop between them. Steve. He was back. He came home to her. But he was not at home.

"I'm sorry," he murmured above her.

Peggy stiffened in his arms.

"I'm sorry," she apologized back.

He held her tight. There was nothing there. Empty- it did not evoke the feelings they once shared. Peggy looked at his face, searching.

She couldn't find it.

The bitterness in her heart soured, she smiled at him.

Fools.

Their dance continued, and she closed her eyes. Her dreams beheld her thoughts and memories. She breathed her husband's scent. Mint and roses, it was not spice and vanilla. Not him. Not hers. Hers.

Fools. They were fools in mourning and dreamers of the ideal. He was living in a new name, a new life. She- she was in a crossroads, relieving the old days and the present.

"Would you like to sleep now?" Steve questioned. They'd stop swaying.

"Yes."

"Peggy, talk to me."

"I am rather tired from work. The members of the SSR would attend Captain America's planned funeral. My colleagues. My colleagues wanted to meet you, the man who I married."

"I can't."

"I know, I told them that you would be away..."

He sighed.

Peggy understood.

"It's okay, Howard will be there. He'll complain about the pomp and circumstance," she smiled bitterly.

It was not as she dreamed in 1945. Their feet shuffled offbeat and out of tempo. They'd dance for one more turn, one last dance of the night.

* * *

America was in mourning for the last time. The military had given up locating his body, and the court had declared he was in imminent peril. Steve Rogers, who piloted the Valkyrie, was dead by absentia.

The Howling commandos had given her support. Though they had teased her about her marriage to another man- they knew. They knew how close she and Steve were.

Peggy held her tears back.

They were burying him. An empty casket for a man buried deep in the ice. He was back. But she was mourning him, the other him.

"Now Agent Margaret Carter shall give her eulogy," the priest called her. She hadn't noticed it. The others looked at her way.

Her legs shook. It was not the time to second guess. Then she felt a hand gripped hers. Howard. She walked to the podium.

"Captain Steve Roger is, was a good man," she began. Her mind filled with the man she knew- the one she was burying. "He had come to serve this country and war to stand up against the oppressors. He always had a strong moral compass. Few knew how stubborn he was. The first time he'd entered combat, he jumped off the plane. He never..."

Tears were forming in her eyes. She needed to continue.

"Steve Rogers never hesitated to lay his life for the cause of the people. I remember how he threw himself to a pinned grenade. Foolish. Steve Rogers was Captain America before he was Captain America. Steve Rogers-"

Silence.

"He gave his life to protect the people. He was a hero..."

Peggy met the eyes of the men who served with him.

"His legacy will continue. We will fight the good fight against those who seek to oppress the people. Captain America is still with us, in us all."

Applauses exploded from the audience.

The tension on her shoulder lifted. The service continued. Steve Rogers was officially dead. Dead. Awards and medals prepared by the military and the White House shone brightly. Many more came to express their admiration for him. No one was there for Steve Rogers except for a few who knew him. Everyone was there for Captain America.

And.

She was burying him from her heart and mind.

* * *

The heavy rain poured outside their home. Warmth radiated from the lit fireplace to ward off the cold. The files in her hand were thin. Hydra. Names, faces, and locations of those of Hydra were brimming of information in the lists. Beside her was Steve, he was reading a battered book. It was, Tolstoy's, "Anna Karenina."

Peggy glanced at her husband.

"You've read that a thousand times. I'll drop by the bookshop for a new one," she offered. Her eyes never left the book in his hand. "If, if that's what you want..."

"Huh?" Steve, startled, looked at her.

"The book, you've worn it out."

She knew about the book's content, she'd read it once.

"No, I can still read the pages- it's fine," he asserted.

He shut the book to focus on her.

"Was that her favorite book?" Peggy questioned him. It was one of the rare times that they addressed his future, or was it past?

"Who?"

Her throat constricted.

"Your friend, was that her favorite book? I don't remember you fascinated by Tolstoy. But my memory is quite clear, you know. So answer me," Peggy urged him. His fingers traced the spine of the book. She laid the files on the coffee table. Peggy never imagined her life would turn out like this. But she should have expected it.

"Yes, this was her favorite book. She'd have her copy with her always. When we were on the run from the authorities, the book was her only personal possession. There was one time that we forgot it- I, we came to retrieve it back. A book! We went back for a book," he chuckled. The wooden chair's paint underneath her nails chipped. His face was glowing with cheerfulness.

"You went back for a book? We'll it seems like minor with the things you've done."

"Trust me. We did crazy things for each other, for everyone in the team."

"You did whatever it takes for everyone."

In a second, his posture changed.

His smile dimmed.

She reached out to touch his hand, but he recoiled back. Her hand lingered in the air. Why? Why did this happen to them?

Peggy remembered clearly the day he came back to her. Shared experience, that phrase haunted her when he told her about it. A shared experience of loss?

How? How could she compete to a woman dead? How could she share the experiences he had with that woman? How could she continue to be with a man who's not who he is?

"I'm going for a run," he conveyed to her with an apologetic tone. She turned her gaze to the amber fire as she hears him stand. He placed the book near her files, she noticed.

"It's raining," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. Peggy could see in her mind's eye the woman and him dancing. They were dancing with passion, mocking her.

"I never got sick since the serum, Peggy..."

Steve soon left her alone there staring at the fire.

Click.

He went out to run, to escape.

"You never got sick Steve. But it seems like we're both afflicted with a certain kind of illness. Sick..." Peggy mused to herself. She turned and took the book in her hands. Gently, she opened it.

An image of a woman appeared. The smile of the woman was captivating, her hair blazing red, and her eyes- her green eyes were full of life. It was so lifelike.

She traced the lines of the drawing, a memory of another life.

"She made you happy when I was gone. But I," tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

Sobs echoed out in the house. A house, not a home- it was not home.

* * *

Steve felt ashamed of himself. He was a selfish coward. The pain in his chest kept on squeezing him as he thought back how he left the house. Things were not going to plan. He was getting a life.

A life that was his to be happy.

The house was dark, and the only light lit was in their living room. He knocked on the door to see if she was awake. Astonishment was evident on his face as he saw her opened the door.

"You're back and wet," Peggy emphasized. There was a towel on her arm.

Sheepishly, he met her eyes. His hand took the offered towel to dry himself off. Water dripped on the wooden floors- there was silence between them.

"Thank you, love," he thanked her. Peggy froze at the endearment.

"Truly?" her voice cooly asked him.

He stopped his movements to look at her eyes. Many years had passed for him, but he still recognized the glint in her eyes.

"Yes, truly."

She scoffed at his words.

"Why did you return to me, Steve?" Peggy continued her questioning. There was iron in her voice.

"Because I love you and to have the life we wanted- to have our dance. Our shared experience," he explained. His heart was beating so fast with anxiousness. He stepped closer to her, but she took a step back away from him.

"Why? You could go back to her. Why did you choose this time, Steve?"

"Hadn't I told you, Peg. I love you. You're my best girl," he maintained. Their eyes met, focused.

"Loved, that's the word you cannot utter to me. Loved, not love," she rebutted back at him. Her arms crossed at her chest. "No more lies Steve. No more lies."

"I wanted to better this world. I wanted to be with you. You, Peggy."

She laughed like she hadn't laughed for a long time. Tears were streaming down her face. Steve looked at her intently.

"I'm not the one you needed. I'm not the one you needed, Steve," she choked between sobs. His arms rushed to embrace her.

"That's not true. Peggy, that's not true. Peggy, Peggy," he murmured at the top of her brunette hair. The cold wetness of his soaked body made her shiver.

"You're not him," Peggy started. "You're not the man I love. He- he's out there buried deep in the ice. And I'm not her. I see it in your eyes. Your not him. Your not my Steve."

They were fools who thought to defy fate and time. Maybe, it would have worked before. For her, she had to bury him in an empty casket. And he had already buried her in the future- a future that was not with him.

"Peggy."

Steve felt surprised when Peggy kissed him. He returned the kiss. The taste of whiskey was present in her mouth. Then she pulled herself off from the kiss. Crying, he was crying with her.

"I'm sorry, Steve. You're not him. You're not the man who had gone down to the sea in 1945."

All they had in common was a memory of a love- an ideal love in their imaginations. When he first appeared back to her, she thought she was dreaming. A dream to end her loneliness. A figment of her imagination.

The lives they led together, for three years was like a dream, a second chance for them.

But.

The man she loves was underneath the ice, and the woman he loves was dead in another time.

It was not 1945 for them.

* * *

How could someone forget their first love?

How could someone let go of their love?

* * *

Author's Note:

I've had an interesting discussion with my sibling that inspired this story. Basically, it was: are we the same persons 10 years ago?

A decade is a long time to change. We might look back things too fondly. We might cringe on certain points of our lives. Is Steve still the same as 1945 Steve? The experience? His life in the future?

Are we the same persons as a year or a decade ago?


End file.
